


An Adventurous Romp

by Sent_Skyeward



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: How Do I Tag, Kiyo is the bottom and Amami is the top who woulda thunk, M/M, Smut, answer: I DO NOT KNOW AND I DO NOT RECALL IT, question: why is korekiyo pastelcore in this, this is old writing so it doesn't reflect how i write now, woah this is pretty kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24643906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sent_Skyeward/pseuds/Sent_Skyeward
Summary: In which Korekiyo Shinguuji summons Rantaro Amami to his home for "research purposes".This has been...Let's say 'marinating' in my writing folder for like a year and a half, I think it's time to post it now that I've already posted my first fic on V3 hgiusdhgu--
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	An Adventurous Romp

Lord, it was freezing. For Shinguuji to call him over at this time of the night seemed like an absurdity at first. Amami's hair was soaking with heavy, unrelenting precipitation for the entire walk to his destination; he did take the scenic route, which would of course delay him for a fraction more, but the sights to see were worth the possible hypothermia.

The darkened house was barely illuminated. The streetlamps, coating but one side of the pavement, did not shine too favourably on Korekiyo's abode, as if it were acting as some dark void. The limited internal light came from deep within the complex, most likely a living room in the back, with the shining of only a dull orange bleeding tirelessly through the drawn curtains with a laid-back determination not too different from the man that viewed it from the outside. Approaching the door, the oak engravings became more pronounced, an oriental pattern running down the left side, cutting down through the middle and emerging once more on the other. It was an interesting design choice, to be sure, and Rantaro took a second to run his hand across the sunken patterns. Why, exactly, had he not noticed this before? This was the fourth time that he was a humble guest to this place, and only now did he find the time to be so intimate with details.

Thrice in quick succession, a knocking sound came from outside. From his perch in the lounge room, Korekiyo would, for a usual meeting, ring out his voice for confirmation that the other could enter. This time, however, the tall man took this modicum of time that he could have well spent correcting a few research errors, or preparing himself for the interaction, but this occasion was irregular. Breaking his somewhat established pattern, Shinguuji was practically at the door to begin with. Eager, maybe? With his slender fingers groping the door handle with elegance, one gentle swoop back leaves the house liberated of closure, and the anthropologist could lay witness to one very drenched individual.

“Oh, my word, Amami. You look sodden as can be. Care to explain why you didn't bring a coat?” Korekiyo remarks.

“It's nothing to overanalyse – I just didn't think the clouds would close in so badly.” Rantaro, beginning to look over the other figure, greets him with a sly smirk. “Who are you to judge what I want to wear? This is the first time I've seen you in anything other than your military getup. I'd even go so far as to say you're taking a little _too_ many notes from me.”

The survivor spoke a truth. It was rare for him to be seen with a lack of a tight uniform on, but simply a shooting star to see him like this. While too nonchalant to be horrified by the contrast of regular to today, the change was very odd. Gracing his mouth was a whited out surgical mask, as opposed to the dark and imposing zipper-clad one that would be commonplace. Lowering down his eyes, a pastel pink top was next, laden with multiple horizontal stripes running across the middle of the wear in a slightly lighter shade. To follow was a tight pair of jeans, graced with smooth fabric and a light cyan tint, and to the lowest points, was what seemed to be grey, fluffy socks, encumbered with a cute kitty face on the top and pointy triangular juts to indicate ears. Amami wondered if this was the same person. There was an utterly opposing energy about Korekiyo, though he could not lay his finger on it. Still a little wide-eyed and concentrated on the anthropologist's choice of footwear, Amami entered, closing the door behind him and removing his shoes not long afterwards.

“For your information, the socks were a mistake, before you gawk at me like a pelican,” Shinguuji quickly elaborated in a defensive manner, “I simply mistook my gaze for one second, and picked up the wrong item.”

“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, Kiyo.” It's hardly as if his accoutrement could be any more surreal.

Shinguuji beckons Amami along, and the two depart into the living room. Swiftly, the taller man takes a blanket in hand, and deposits into his guest's arms. Rantaro smiles. The man, who often was, and is under fire from so many insults and criticisms, always appeared nice at heart when he wasn't putting on a facade for a group of people. One-to-one, he always harboured different sentiments; would offer food and drink, would allow free usage of most of his rooms, and seemed, well, like an impostor. However, even with the paradigm shift, there was some sense of haste to Shinguuji on this day – some speck of impatience, slowly coalescing larger and larger – that became more difficult to ignore. The two promptly sit down together on the coach, and Amami relaxes on the fleecy pillows.

“You don't look half bad in casual clothes, Shinguuji. Try it more often.” Rantaro offhandedly states. Shinguuji is quick to follow up.

“I wouldn't mind the change, however, people have built up an expectation of me. If I were to make such drastic transitions in my attire, I'd easily have holes poken into my words. You don't seem to understand the importance of my uniform, because not only is it culturally inspired, it is, to a degree, intimidating. It would be a jester's tale for me to arrive to partake in some serious debates with--”

“And it would be ridiculous for me to turn up in chainmail. You say all this stuff like I don't know it. It does surprise me how intelligent you are with people, but we non-anthropologists can have common sense too.”

A brief silence envelops the room, but only brief. Whether it be out of acceptance or denial, Korekiyo quickly speaks up, shifting the topic.

“You interest me. And yes, I know, this isn't a surprise to you, but your perfunctory manner is something I don't see often in such an age where expression is widespread and prejudices are low. That is, in majority, why I've summoned you here. It will sound malevolent, but I wish to see what would happen to you – if say, for instance – you were thrust through to a situation where your composure may be, to put it lightly, skewed.” Shinguuji seems partially in thought upon finishing his sentence. Amami takes this opportunity to voice his own opinion.

“So, you want to see me emotional? It's not my fault I'm so chill, and trust me, you have to have something nasty planned if you want to get anywhere. Part of me is hoping you have something in mind already so I'm not giving you torture ideas.”

Korekiyo does something he doesn't usually do – he turns his head away from Rantaro. The stern speaker could usually address other parties with unchanging emotion, a hyperbole to Amami's own little bit of apathy, but when all his authority is stripped away, he's a changed man: he shows weakness.

“Why would I call you here, in a downfall so severe, if I _lacked_ a plan...” Shinguuji takes several seconds of pause to plan out his response, “...it would be unsavoury of me. I suppose revealing my expectations for tonight has put me in a bind. I enjoy being around you. I think you're, at the very least, a good counterbalance to my unintentional severity, and I would love to get to know you better, not in controlled research, but rather in a more personal way.”

Amami almost chuckles, but thinks better of it and stifles his laughter.

“There's not much to know about me, I'm a man of anecdotes, but I understand you, Kiyo. I like you too. Behind all that scathing is a genuine guy who wants the best for those close to him. I'd be down for any plans you have for me, since you wouldn't try to harm me, I'm pretty sure.”

“Any plans? You might not want to blanket term your phrasing in a moment such as this. The scheme I have is, after all, going to put you out of your comfort zone.” Once again, Korekiyo shows a form of uncertainty, and is slightly taken aback by Amami's agreement, despite knowing him well enough to predict that he would agree. Rantaro picks up on this backpedalling.

“ _Any plans._ Don't cheat yourself. I can get as monotonous as you some days, so the moments I'm outside of my comfort zone are what I live for.”

Shinguuji hesitates again. Then, he places his hand onto Amami's, and lightly grasps it.

“Yes, yes, I get the hang of it. I wouldn't know if you've involved yourself in the activities I have prepared, I would assume you have, but we shall see. If you ever want to back out, please, inform me.”

Without another word, Korekiyo takes a stand, still with his hand on Rantaro's, and wordlessly also, the green-haired boy follows suit, letting the blanket slide off of himself. Shinguuji leads the way, striding out of the room to manoeuvre to a flight of stairs. The two hurry up to the peak, swivel left, and through the first door to the left. Amami takes a moment to wonder why he's been escorted to the bedroom, of all locations. The anthropologist unlatches his hand from the other's and traipses to the bottom of his bed.

The room has quite the atmosphere. The walls are lavished with a thick burgundy, not too dissimilar to a strong rose. Lightening the room is but one small candle of wax, a cream-coloured pillar melting to sustain the bright glow of the flame that consumes it. Everything else would be customary for an anthropologist's room, with the sides of the room being coated with jewelled ornaments and years of notes. Shinguuji's bed looks quite enticing, to be fair; it's a pseudo-royal piece of furniture, with designs scraping along the sides that scream beauty and eloquence befitting of a king or prince. In the time Amami spends marvelling at the room, Korekiyo has already found himself a seat at the bed end, and is pinching the hem of his top in a way that suggests something peculiar.

“I can tell, by the way you veer around like a child, you're attempting to verify your surroundings to find a clue, a hidden iota of what is to come, but what I wish to show you is hidden underneath the mattress. If you could be so kind, I would like you to reach underneath and pull out the closed box.”

Being treated as some sort of errand boy was no concern to Rantaro. He was more intrigued by Shinguuji's speech. Shrugging the request off with a simple “okay”, Amami stepped forth to kneel, and reached his arms through the woodwork to feel for a box. Upon the touch of cardboard, he grasped the faces and slid back, retrieving the object successfully, in time for Korekiyo to continue speaking.

“In my quest to learn more about humanity, I've fooled myself into believing that learnt factoids have been all that there is to anthropology. To truly grasp the more informal parts of our beautiful society, I must conform to the informalities of it, and do something that I myself have been unable to perform,” Shinguuji wavers, moving the fabric of his shirt between his clasped fingers, seemingly having difficulty keeping up his regular cool-headedness, “and so, from one acquaintance to another, I'm requesting of you to step out of your comfort zone for me. Open the box...please.”

The anthropologist relaxes, lying back onto the soft bedsheets but keeping his head propped up against the rear of the bedframe to look back at Rantaro, who is staring at the box with a slightly nervous disposition. He takes a finger, runs it across the seam of the cardboard, and stops it at the vertex, before biting the bullet and flipping over the top.

A surprise indeed. Crimson rope, a ball gag, handcuffs, and a whole lot more. Despite the clues all being there, the normally complacent Rantaro looks in shock up at Korekiyo – not a shock of disgust, but that of curiosity. Korekiyo, of course, looks back, his face a mixture of two emotions: a grin, that of reassurance and wellbeing, but subsequently a solemn glint in his eyes, a look reflected off of his pupils, non-manipulative, that pierces Amami with the realization that the taller boy wants this. He thinks, Shinguuji doesn't get much love, or appreciation. It's a certainty that he would never be given such an opportunity as this by any other of his peers. It upsets him, a little. But thinking unbiased, he sees no reason not to accept. Sure, their dynamic is complicated, and they're not lovers, but the joy this will bring the one who brought him here, the one who'll provide for him whatever he wants, outweighs any of the opposing social stigmas.

“So, you want this to be a 'friends with benefits' sort of situation? I've never dealt with something like _this_ before, but I'm definitely not opposed to it. You've given a lot to me without realizing it, and if this is how you want repayment, then I'm not to judge.” Rantaro tries to remain chill, wiping away his traumatism. Korekiyo, however, is antsy, still fidgeting with his own attire and staring back.

“You could call it that. I know these...practices, are not traditional, in such a medium as the one of imminent enactment, however, this will be a learning experience, a way to clear any nebulous self-doubts or interests that may plague you--”

“Cut it, Kiyo,” Amami interrupts, trying not to be rude but giving him a stern visage, “just tell me what you want to do. You said you wanted me to step outside of my comfort zone, so praise what you preach. It doesn't matter to me how you speak, or how you word your sentences, because if anything, it's making you look false, at least right now. Let the real you speak for himself, and if that means losing yourself to your desire, then so be it.”

Rather than lay dumbfounded, Shinguuji's face goes a slight shade of pink. He doesn't see it often, but Rantaro can be really good at playing the authority. As per his request, Korekiyo frees himself up a little.

“I want you to take charge, Rantaro. I've wanted something like this for a long time, almost indeterminably. I've had the pleasure of being in power so much, that I want someone to make me feel powerless,” Korekiyo goes a tone more pinkish, “so I want you to use me however you s-see fit. Please. I need this.”

That was all Amami wanted to hear – a 'ready to go' from the other boy. He chuckles lightly, and smiles, a blend of gladness, with a tinge of sexual enmity to it. He places the box to the bedside gently, before climbing onto the bed and kneeling commandingly over the anthropologist.

“We'll ease ourselves into it. It'll get me in the mood, and it's my way of teasing you.”

Rantaro leans forward, and plants a dainty kiss on the centre of the white mask. Korekiyo, however, is a bit too aroused to settle with an indirect smooch. With a finger, he throws away his inhibition by removing his mask and placing it to the side to reveal a pair of well preened lips, coated with the finest of blood red lipstick. Rantaro isn't surprised, not after everything that's happened, and instead takes control of the situation by speaking up.

“Lipstick, huh? If we weren't just 'friends with benefits', I might've called that hot.” Amami smugly remarks.

Shinguuji tries to speak, but is pre-emptively interrupted by another kiss, this time lips-to-lips, lasting only a few seconds. Not only is Rantaro authoritative, but he's trying to make the anthropologist even more fomented, all while shutting down any instance of defiance before it can even happen – and Korekiyo absolutely loves it.

“You're in for the long haul, I can tell. You're making this last. And nothing I say can stop that, it seems.” Shinguuji seems to realize the words he speaks only after he speaks them, as another tone of blush is added to his face. He's completely unable to fight back. A light pant fades in and out under the tall man's breath.

“What can I say? You're not the boss of me. But I suppose out of the kindness of my heart, you'd like it more if I'd provide. I can tell you want to be called something. We're not a slave-master sort duo, or a cop and robber, but how about you call me 'lord'? You're a humanity buff, I know it'd get your rocks off.”

After finishing his brusque remark, Amami peppers Korekiyo's face with gentle taps of his lips, making ever so sure to plant one directly upon those gorgeous red rims and make it last twice as long. These trail down to the neck, and Rantaro leans in closer to administer a placid bite, which causes Shinguuji to ever so gently oscillate in place and pant a little louder. To follow, Rantaro pulls back, and places his hands on either sides of the collar hole of the top, then sequentially pulling it away from Shinguuji's body. The tall man's chest is lightly muscled and his waist is surprisingly thin. Given that the anthropologist spends his days cooped up in a tight uniform, the skin is very sensitive. Amami holds one hand close to Korekiyo's neck and the other he uses to trace down his body. Shinguuji looks intently at the hand hovering close by his neck, which clues Rantaro on to something.

“There's nothing interesting about that hand, unless you're trying to read my palms for fortune or something. Or, for instance, if there's something about hands near necks that might have spurred you to look so frustrated.” Rantaro wisecracks.

Korekiyo knows that if he tries to argue back or disprove it, he'll be disallowed. He pants quicker, however, an unconscious admittance. Amami looks over the other boy, and simpers, keeping one hand set hazardously close to his neck, as the other makes its way downwards further to Shinguuji's jeans. He slowly pulls them down, quite skilled even when using one hand to remove them, until they're fully removed, leaving only underwear and socks on. As a direct followup, Rantaro moves forward onto Korekiyo, taking a seat over his hip area. With half-overlaid eyes, he takes his hand and moves his index finger and thumb underneath the jaw, placed on the neck, and with his other fingers curled around. He quizzes the tall man, one simple statement:

“Tell me how much you want it.”

Korekiyo's equanimity is killed. He pants harder yet, and continues to blush a now reddish-pink tone, and Amami can swear he feels something starting to graze his inner thigh from where he's sitting.

“Choke me. I'm your s-subordinate.”

Rantaro applies a fair amount of pressure to the neck, which starts to weigh down on Shinguuji's windpipe. He lightly coughs, gagging intertwined magnificently with the sound of feminine moaning. Shinguuji is unable to contain himself, not mainly from the pleasure itself, but simply from the fact that yes, this is happening to him. He shakes, back and forth, breathy moans punctuating his jolts. Eventually, it is brought to an abrupt end, as Amami pulls his hand away. This little feeling on his leg has turned into a bigger one.

“I've never choked anybody who wanted to be choked before. I'll admit – it's satisfying to put that pressure onto you and hear you get so worked up about it. But hey, you brought a whole box for me, didn't you? Why should I confine myself to just hands?” Amami jokes.

He reaches into the bedside box and pulls out the spindle of rope, which he examines carefully. He glances at Korekiyo, knowing that he's watching the rope and not him, and pulls the strand taut. Rantaro is able to rapidly weave the rope between Korekiyo's limbs, tying little bow knots along the way, which make Shinguuji look akin to a wrapped present, and following finishing all of the preparations, pulls the bonds harshly tight against the other boy's skin. Even this is enough to get Shinguuji to let out a light moan. Amami, however, is not done. Why put anything to waste? He retrieves the ball gag, and opens Korekiyo's lips to place the plastic sphere inside, before buckling it together at the back. He then acquires the set of handcuffs, which he promptly clicks one onto Shinguuji's left wrist and the other onto his own right wrist. He removes the key from the lock and looks it over before placing it onto the bedside table, in reach if necessary.

“I was considering swallowing the key. You wouldn't mind if I did, of course; a subordinate like you would love to stay like this. Am I wrong? Hey, speak up if you have any objections. Your _lord_ is benevolent enough to listen.”

Korekiyo whimpers, the sound muffled, taken down by more than one notch already. With his uncuffed hand, Rantaro slowly pushes down his own jeans, removing them. Shinguuji looks up at the other boy's undergarments and breathes a little faster, seeing the still growing bulge in his boxers. Amami takes a second for contemplation, then leans down to Korekiyo's head to try something. He takes in his hand a bit of Korekiyo's hair, and pulls lightly. Shinguuji lets out a suppressed moan, confirming another one of Rantaro's hypotheses. It's time to have some fun.

Amami moves a bit backwards onto Korekiyo's legs for easy access. He tugs at the brim of Korekiyo's undergarments, before languidly dragging them off. Shinguuji's cock is about 6 inches erect, and it jitters ever so slightly from anticipation. The sight of it rouses Rantaro, as he displaces his own set of underwear to reveal his own cock, somewhat around the same size, though a tad larger. The two engage in a short, ten second intermission where they marvel at each other's members, before Amami continues.

Rantaro takes two of his fingers down and slides them against Shinguuji's throbbing dick, causing him to emit another high-pitched moan. He glissades his hand down Korekiyo's shaft until reaching the base, then stroking back up. He guides the fingers to his mouth and inserts them, coating them well in spit, before rubbing them back onto Shinguuji's cock for lubrication. He repeats the action, however this time lures his fingers down to his own posterior to lubricate his asshole. Amami repositions himself above Korekiyo's quivering dick, and ever so slowly, lowers himself down onto it. The two parties exchange moans, Rantaro's more deep in tone than Shinguuji's very effeminate noises. Rantaro continues to descend until he's completely filled with Korekiyo's cock, panting a little.

“You feel damn good, I'll give you that – and that's without movement.” Amami quips.

Rantaro then proceeds to ascend back up, until only the tip still stays within. Then, he lowers himself back down again. Every single movement creates a cacophony of sex sounds, of moans and pants and gasps. The process repeats, and every cycle, their moans get louder and louder. No longer needing his hands for anything, Rantaro reaches his cuffed hand down to Korekiyo's neck, and his free hand to his hair. He applies a substantially larger amount of pressure to Shinguuji on both neck and hair, causing him to wail and moan unrelentingly. The sounds give way for Amami to ride the anthropologist faster, and harder, inducing more enamoured moans and the offhanded pleasured expletive from Rantaro. The choking, pulling, riding and complete helplessness makes Korekiyo squeal in satisfaction, and his whole body convulses slightly from the utter joy. The two are left in a vicious cycle, wherein every sound from Korekiyo would cause Rantaro to feel better, and so enact his force upon Korekiyo more violently, which would only increase the frequency and pitch of these sublime disquietudes. Amami moans and grunts and swears, Shinguuji twitches and moans and drools and feels close to finishing. Korekiyo exudes a long, gratified moan to signify his nearing, and Rantaro begins to feel ready to finish, so he puts the final nail in the coffin for the anthropologist:

“ _Cum for me Kiyo, you slut~”_

Shinguuji expels a primal moan and climaxes violently, spewing his cum inside Amami's ass. The warmth of the liquid filling him causes him to reach orgasm as well, releasing his own supply of cum all over Korekiyo's chest, face, and some catching on his own shirt with a loud moan. Rantaro takes away his hands from Shinguuji to remove himself from the other boy's still-pulsating cock, causing a stream of viscous cum starts to flow out of his hole. The two are left panting for minutes on end, unable to do anything else after such an intense session, until Rantaro once again is the one to speak.

“That was...one of the most thrilling experiences I've had to date. I think we've both learned a lot from that.” Amami jests.

He then realizes that Shinguuji has not yet had his ball gag displaced, and so he swiftly moves over to remove it. When the apparatus to the side, Korekiyo gasps for air, light moans still percolate the air, and he can't form coherent words. He's legitimately been fucked silly.

It took about eight minutes for the cleanup, and a couple more on top of that for Korekiyo to come back to his senses. The two had hardly been able to wipe the semen off of themselves and had barely managed to remove all of the equipment and place it back into the box with the limited energy they had. They couldn't even put their clothes back on, both laid down flat on the bed, overcome with exhaustion. Shinguuji breaks the silence after a short while.

“I-I...Really appreciate your willingness to do that. I can concur that it was one of the best experiences of my life. The way you conducted yourself with such playful ferocity was amazing to me, not only as a learning exercise, but from a 'simply human' perspective, without jumbling actual feelings with any research.” Korekiyo articulates. Rantaro just nods in response, somewhat kerfuffled, before introducing his own clause.

“We're still 'friends with benefits', right? You're not going to be able to stop me from staying here for the night because of that, I am _not_ walking home in that weather; and that's implying I can still _walk._ ” Amami tiredly exclaims. Shinguuji lightly laughs, more susceptible to be humoured after something so invigorating. Amami follows up again.

“It'll seem redundant, but just know that all the sex stuff stays as the sex stuff. I don't hate you and I'm not going to choke you or pull your hair, unless it's something you want me to do. Just wanna clear that up with you, so we can distinguish a proper rapport from the kinky things.” Rantaro exposits, just in the interest of making sure the two still like each other after an incident so foreign to both of them. Korekiyo silently agrees with a smile, before turning over and putting his hand over Rantaro's.

“Tomorrow night, Amami?”

“I'm down for a new adventure, Kiyo.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was never really sure if I wanted to post this, but I went back and re-read it and even if it doesn't reflect my writing style now (holy fuck how did I even manage with that much description?), it's still a good read -- not tooting my own horn, I swear.
> 
> Yeah it's just smut. I have no shame, do I.
> 
> If you liked it, I'd like to hear appraisals (or criticisms!) in the comments.
> 
> ...BUT SERIOUSLY WHY DID I MAKE KOREKIYO PASTELCORE IN THIS I DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER.


End file.
